Behind Closed Doors
by triggerhappy.antagonist
Summary: -Angst- Three months later, the wounds are still fresh. -Notyouraverage sister!fic- For eight-year-old Joana Beth Curtis, home became a strange place.
1. I

**DISCLAIMER: **_**The Outsiders**_** belongs to S.E. Hinton. I own nothing.**

_x_

**Behind Closed Doors**

_**I**_

_x_

Three months ago, my parents died.

I knew this the moment I woke up. The sky was grey, the house was silent, and the only sound I could hear was raindrops falling on the roof.

It was hard to get out of bed, and even harder to walk across the cold floor and into the bathroom to clean my teeth. Darry's bedroom door was closed, meaning he was still asleep. That's another reason why I knew. Darry was always the first one up in the morning.

When I finished cleaning my teeth I wiped the smudges of toothpaste off my face with my sleeve and walked into the kitchen. Ponyboy's shoes weren't beside the door where they always were. He must have gone for a run, even though he never runs this earlier. That's another reason why I knew.

Sodapop gave me a small smile as I entered the kitchen. He was standing in front of the oven, holding a flipper. Next to him, four pancakes were bubbling on the griddle. Four _plain_; not purple, pancakes. Another sign.

"Mornin', Joana," he said as he stuck the flipper under a pancake and turned it over.

My name is pretty weird, I guess. But then again, my Dad was pretty weird too, and he was the one who named me, after his mother. I winced when Soda called me by my name. He never called me Joana. He knew how much I hated my name ( and I _really_ hated it.) only Darry ever called me Joana anymore.

"Mornin', Soda," I said back as I went over to the fridge and took out a carton of apple juice and set it on the table. Sodapop reached into the cupboard and handed me a glass. I didn't say anything about the pancakes.

I poured myself a glass of juice and went into the living room. The couch was bare and the television wasn't on. That's another reason why I knew, because there's always someone here in the morning, usually Two-Bit watching cartoons or Steve sleeping on the couch.

I sat down on the floor next to the coffee table. Yesterday's newspaper was strewn across the couch and floor; Soda must have torn it up looking for the sports section again. I finished my juice and went to gather up the scattered papers. I didn't want Soda to get in trouble. Not today.

As I bent over to get the comics page from under the couch, I heard the creak of the front door opening. I looked over to see Ponyboy slip into the house and shut the door quietly behind him.

Ponyboy's face was flushed and twisted and his cheeks looked glossy, like they always did after he cried. He reached down to untie the laces on his shoes, which I noticed, were splattered with mud. I knew instantly that he'd gone to visit Mom and Dad. It was always wet and muddy in the cemetery after it rained.

Ponyboy stood back up and ran his fingers through his brown hair, which was slick and mussed from running. He let out a noisy sigh and walked stiffly toward his bedroom. I watched him leave, a cold feeling forming in my stomach. I wish I'd said something to him.

Darry stumbled in from the bathroom, his hair clean and his work clothes still damp from his shower. His face looked tight and pale, like when he pulls a muscle in his back and then stands up too fast. There were lines on his forehead and under his eyes, making him look much older than his twenty years.

When he noticed me, his expression seemed to twist into a forced look. "Come and eat your breakfast, Joana Beth," he said to me. His voice was as tight as his face. Darry always calls me by my first and second name. It makes him sound more like a parent to me than a brother.

I got up and made to go into the kitchen, but Darry cleared his throat and pointed to the coffee table.

"Sorry." I went over and picked up my empty glass. Darry hated it when any of us left our empty dishes in the living room. He said it was unsanitary and would attract animals. I dumped my glass in the sink and sat down at the table next to Ponyboy's empty seat.

Sodapop set a plate of pancakes in front of me and started to cut them up, because I still had trouble using a knife. I stared down at the pancakes and swallowed. My stomach was telling me not to eat them. They were too plain and sad and un-Sodapop-like.

Darry leaned over behind me, and I felt him pull back my hair and start to comb it, like he did every morning while I ate breakfast. Just like Mom used to. I could feel him jerk and tug the comb when he came across a knot, and I heard him grunt in frustration.

"Look at your hair. It's redder than Ponyboy's," Darry said quietly when he'd finished combing it. He put down the comb and pushed back my hair with his fingers. "I forgot that you need a haircut… it's almost to the middle of your back now."

"I don't want a haircut," I told him, which is what I always say when he tells me I need a haircut. Mom always liked my long curly hair, so I didn't want anyone to cut it. I ran my fingers through my hair when Darry was finished to muss it up a bit.

Darry shook his head and went to sit beside Sodapop, who was pouring syrup over his pancakes then folding them up and eating them like tacos. He picked up his mug of coffee and took a long drink, his eyes staring at the wall.

I heard a door close shut and Ponyboy walked into the room and sat quietly beside me. I noticed that his face was cleaned off and he'd fixed up his hair. Ponyboy's nose scrunched up when he looked at his pancakes. I knew he was thinking the same thing I was.

"Eat your breakfast. You're gonna be late for school," Darry said as he took another sip of coffee.

Ponyboy picked up a fork and started to eat. I looked down at my pancakes again. They weren't Soda's pancakes, and I wasn't going to eat them. I wrinkled my nose and shook my head, and pushed my plate away from me.

"I don't wanna eat them."

I didn't have to look at Darry's face to know it was going all twisted and tight, like it did when was trying to figure something out. "You'll be hungry if you go to school with an empty stomach." He said.

I shook my head. "I'm not going to school."

Darry looked at Sodapop. Soda wiped the syrup off his chin and turned to face me. "Why not? School's ending in a few weeks for summer vacation."

"I don't care. I don't wanna go."

Darry and Soda shared another look. I knew they weren't going to make me go to school. Not today. They didn't make me go last month, either, or the month before that. Not on this day.

"I'll have one of the gang check in on her," Soda said to Darry. Darry nodded and picked up my plate and took it to the sink. His face didn't look tight anymore. He looked really tired.

Ponyboy finished eating and put his plate in the sink, then went to get his books and left to go to school without saying anything. He didn't look at any of us. Sodapop got up and went to change into his work clothes.

Darry looked at the growing pile of dirty dishes in the sink and the dust settling on the counter tops. He sighed heavily and grabbed his truck keys off the fridge, tucking them into his pocket as he bent over to pull on his shoes.

Darry looked up at me again. His eyes were cloudy and he looked sad and angry and helpless at the same time. Then he opened the door and walked out, closely followed by Sodapop, who was hopping on one foot to put his shoe on.

I heard dad's truck sputter a few times before roaring to life, and then the noise faded as it disappeared down the street, leaving me alone in the quiet, empty house.

* * *

"What's going on with you, Ponyboy? Your grades are getting worse! Look at this— a sixty-two in math? A seventy in English? You can do better than that. Haven't you been doing the homework they send you? All you're passing is gym!"

I lifted a forkful of macaroni to my mouth and chewed on it slowly, my eyes focused on the plate of golden-brown macaroni-and-cheese in front of me. I tried to pretend that I wasn't here, that I couldn't see Darry's angry face or Pony's sad eyes, and I couldn't hear Darry yell and scream at Pony.

It wasn't working. I swallowed hard and snuck a glance at Ponyboy. He was staring at the table hard, his face scrunched up like he was trying to hold something back. He was squeezing his fork so tight that his hand turned white. He hadn't touched his dinner.

It wasn't like this was strange anymore. Darry had been yelling at Ponyboy a lot lately. Too much, I think. He yelled about Ponyboy's grades the most, but Pony's the smartest in the family, and even I could see that he'd been doing bad in school.

"You're failing all your courses and your grades are sinking! Can't you at least _pretend_ you care about that? Or at least give me a good explanation why your performance is dropping! Huh, Ponyboy? Can you tell me that?"

Darry paused and leaned over close to Ponyboy, waiting for him to speak. Pony didn't even look up at him. "Damnit, Ponyboy! I'm through playing guessing games with you!" and he made a fist and pounded it into the table with such force it made the dishes quiver and knocked over my glass of milk.

I stared at the puddle of milk streaming toward the edge of the table. Darry was still staring at Ponyboy, and didn't seem to know or care about the spill. I knew I should clean it up, but I didn't want to move. I was still trying to pretend I wasn't here.

I felt a hand touch my arm and looked up to see Soda holding a wad of paper towels. He started to mop up the mess, giving me a gentle, reassuring smile that told me I hadn't done anything wrong. Soda picked up my glass and refilled it with milk.

I stared at my macaroni and didn't say anything, even when it started to get cold and I should have eaten it. I kept stare at it as Ponyboy and Darry continued to argue back and forth, and I was still staring at it when Ponyboy stomped off to his room and Darry stormed off to the living room.

Then I blinked. I picked up my plate and Ponyboy's and scraped the cold macaroni into the garbage, then dumped them in the sink. I pushed a chair over to the sink, then turned on the hot water and picked up a dishrag. It was my turn to wash the dishes tonight.

* * *

I opened the back door and stumbled outside, heaving the full watering can behind me with both hands. The sun was just starting to set, and the sky was painted with pink and purple and gold and the clouds were thick and orange.

Ponyboy used to take me out to watch the sun set in the summer, and he would tell me all the colors in the sky and let me wish on the first star that appeared. But he stopped doing that.

I dragged the watering can across the grass toward the garden. Water sloshed around, trickling into the grass and soaking the front of my skirt. I tried to heave it up and carry it like Mom did. I almost dropped it.

Mom loved her garden. She used to spend all summer in the yard with her flowers. She had the best garden I'd ever seen, with yellow cosmos and black-eyed susans and purple lilacs and sunflowers and golden marigolds. It was most beautiful in summer, when all the flowers were in bloom.

I could still see my Mom in the garden, wearing her sun hat and with dirt smeared on her hands and skirt. After she'd gone, no one had bothered to do anything with the garden. So I took care of it. Mom would have wanted me to.

I tipped the watering can over so the water rained onto the flowers. Mom used to only water the roots, but I liked to watch the water droplets trickle off the petals like tears.

I made sure to water every flower, then I set the watering can down and sat in the grass and stared at the garden. It didn't look like Mom's did. Some of the flowers had wilted, the lilacs weren't as purple, and the cosmos were starting to die. The golden marigolds hadn't bloomed yet.

The marigolds were Mom's favorite flower. She loved to watch them bloom and before they started to wilt she would pick some and put them in a vase on the table or close them in a book so they'd stay soft and bright for another few months.

I wished the marigolds would bloom. When the blossom opened it looked just like Mom's hair, gold and silky and shimmering. I wanted to remember Mom's hair. Maybe I could even pick some and hide them in the books in my room. I couldn't put them in a vase on the table. Darry wouldn't let me.

I kept watching the flowers until the sun disappeared and the sky filled with stars. I kept watching them even when it became dark and cold and I started to shiver. I kept watching them even when the moon rose high in the sky and silver light glinted on the flowers.

Then Darry yelled for me to come in and get ready for bed. I picked up the empty watering can and walked back to the house. I looked across the yard one last time, at the garden Mom had loved so much.

I'm sorry, Mom

* * *

**First Outsiders story.. any thoughts? (:**


	2. II

**Behind Closed Doors**

xx

_**II**_

xx

I woke up cold and shivering. My pajamas were damp and my skin felt sticky and my hair was stuck to my face. I was breathing fast and my heart was beating so hard I could hear it.

I had another nightmare about Mom and Dad. This time it was a red truck that hit them and I was in the backseat. I felt chilly inside at the memory. I wish I was like Ponyboy. He has nightmares too, and they can be really bad, but he never remembers them.

I always remember mine.

I didn't want to go back to sleep. My bed was damp and every time I closed my eyes I saw the headlights from the red truck coming closer and closer.

I pushed away my covers and crawled out of my tiny bed. The floor felt cold under my feet and it creaked when I moved. I walked out the door quietly and down the hall, trying not to wake up my brothers.

This, like Darry's yelling, is not strange to me. I've had nightmares ever since _that_ day. But I don't wake up screaming like Ponyboy does, and I don't get Soda or Darry to comfort me, either.

Usually after I have a nightmare I'll get out of bed and go sleep on Darry's bedroom floor, or with Soda and Pony, or on the couch. As long as I'm away from my room I'm all right.

This time I went into the living room to sleep on the couch. But when I walked over, I saw Dallas sprawled across the sofa with a blanket cocooned around him and his arm thrown over his head.

He was drunk. I could smell the alcohol on his breath when he breathed out. Even though I shouldn't, I climbed up onto the couch and squeezed into the small space behind Dally's knees, which were bent forward so he could curl his feet into the couch.

Sometimes one of the gang is using the sofa when I go to sleep on it. This doesn't bother me, and I just clamber up beside Two-Bit or Steve or sometimes Dally and go to sleep. I always wake up before they know I'm there, though.

I snatched a corner of the blanket away from Dally and covered myself with it, then rest my head against his stocking feet. His feet didn't smell nearly as bad as Two-Bit's did, and he didn't snore as loud as Steve, either.

Soon, I fell asleep, sharing a delinquents blanket and curled up next to a drunken hood.

**xx**

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was that I was no longer sleeping on Dally's feet. The second thing I noticed was that my pillow felt very hard and rough. I opened my eyes and looked around, then slowly sat up. I could hear the Bugs Bunny theme song playing on the television.

I was still on the sofa with Dally, and Dally was still dead asleep. I must have moved sometime last night, because when I fell asleep I was curled up with my head on Dally's feet, but now I had my head propped up on his hip and my arms thrown across his back and stomach.

I slipped off of Dally slowly, shivering as I did. It was cold this morning and I was only wearing handmedown boxers and one of Soda's shirts. I ran my fingers through my tangled hair and looked around.

I could hear the shower running and Soda's offkey voice singing an Elvis song. Darry was at the table with his stocking feet propped up and his face buried in a newspaper. Two-Bit was sitting in front of the television, watching cartoons and drinking a beer.

Two-Bit must have heard me get up, because he turned around and looked at me, raising a brow. He stood up and came over, holding a finger to his lip in a 'sssh' gesture, then nodding toward Dally.

I knew what he meant. Dally could be very violent when his privacy was invaded, especially by an eight-year-old, and especially by an eight-year-old he didn't like. Dally never liked me, which was understandable, because he was nine years older than me and didn't exactly like anybody that much.

But when Dally was drunk, he was twice as angry and much more violent and it was real hard to tell how he would react to something. I had no doubt he'd bash my head in if he woke up and caught me. Two-Bit held his hand out and when I took it, he easily hauled me off the couch and onto the floor.

"Boy, but are you one lucky baby, Jo," Two-Bit said. "Dally would'a strangled ya bare-handed if he'd caught ya."

Even though I'm eight and technically not a baby, that's what the gang refers to me as. I guess to them I am a baby, since mostly everyone is at least nine or ten years older than me.

"What were ya doin' anyway, huh?" Two-Bit asked, picking up his beer and taking a long drink.

"Jes' sleeping," I replied. I glanced back over at Dally. Even while sleeping he still looked dangerous; his brows were knit together and his mouth was set in a dark scowl. I shuddered, thinking about what could have happened if he'd woken up and caught me.

It was Darry's turn to cook breakfast this morning since he was the first one up, but he didn't feel like making anything, so he cut up a few slices of chocolate cake and everyone took a piece. Except for me, because I don't like chocolate that much, especially for breakfast, not like Soda and Pony do.

So while Two-Bit, Pony, Soda, Darry and Steve, who came over soon after I cleaned my teeth, were on the sofa or table eating their cake, I went into the kitchen and took a clean bowl out of the sink and filled it with Apple Jacks.

I walked into the living room and squished next to Soda on the sofa. He was wearing only his jeans and he was still damp from his shower. I looked passed him and saw Dally sitting on the sofa arm beside Steve, and he was smoking and grumbling.

I pulled my legs up to my chest protectively and picked up three Apple Jacks with my fingers and shoved them in my mouth. That was how I ate Apple Jacks; three at a time. I never put milk in or used a spoon. I liked my cereal dry.

"How can you eat those without milk, kid?" Steve asked rudely, glaring at me from behind Soda. "That's sick."

"She likes 'em like that," Soda told him, sticking up for me like he usually did when Steve was being rude to me. Then he reached over and tweaked a curl of my hair.

I leaned over so I was facing Steve and shoved a handful of Apple Jacks in my mouth. I chewed on them slow and loud, frowning at Steve the whole time. His face scrunched up and he showed his teeth, like he was trying not to hit me. I knew he wanted to.

When I finished eating my Apple Jacks I set the empty bowl on the coffee table, but then Darry cleared his throat and I didn't have to look up to know he was giving me _that_ look. I picked up the bowl and hopped off the couch.

As I was walking toward the kitchen I felt someone push my shoulder. I turned to see Dally leaning forward on the sofa arm and holding his cigarette between two fingers. "Got somethin' for ya, kid," he said in his deep, rough voice.

He took a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke into my face. I leaned away from it as I watched him reach into his jacket pocket and pull out a handful of cigarette butts.

I held out my hands and he all but thrust them into my palms. "I know ya like to collect 'em, so I been savin' some for a while." Dally said as if it were nothing. I turned to walk away and Dally flicked the back of my head with his hand.

I took the cigarette butts gratefully and ran into the kitchen, dumping my bowl into the sink before going into my room and pulling out the strawberry jam jar I kept under my bed. It was halfway full with old cigarette butts, most of them I got from Johnny or Dally.

I dropped the ones Dally gave me in. I had been collecting cigarette butts for about four months now. I was planning on filling up the whole jar and them gluing all the butts together and making the longest cigarette ever.

Darry doesn't like that idea, though. He doesn't like me collecting butts, either. He told me I should collect something normal, like pencils or coins. So I started collecting old pennies too, just to make him happy.

I slid the jar back under my bed, and since I was in my room anyway I took off my pajamas and changed into my school clothes.

When I returned to the kitchen, Darry was standing at the sink and cleaning off all the dirty dishes that'd been piling up all week. He beckoned me over with his soapy hand, and then wiped his fingers on the seat of his jeans and handed me a bag lunch.

"Go put your shoes on, Joana Beth," he said as he scrubbed at the week-old chocolate stains on a plate. "You want I should drive ya to school or'd you rather walk with Ponyboy?"

I would have rather walked, but when I looked around for Ponyboy he wasn't there. His sneakers were gone. He must've already left for school. Usually he'll wait for me and walk me to my school because it's on the way to his school anyway, but sometimes he goes off on his own.

"I'll take a ride today," I said to Darry. I went into the living room and started looking for my shoes, because sometimes I kick them off when I get home and they end up in weird places. Today they were jammed in the couch cushions. A lot of my stuff ends up in there. I found the candy bar that I lost last month, too.

I ran out to Darry's truck and I had to squish in the backseat with Soda and Steve because Dally already took shotgun. He needed a ride to Buck Merril's. I peeled off the wrapper on my candy bar, but before I could take a bite Soda snatched it out of my hand and tore off a big chunk with his teeth, then handed it back to me.

"This tastes kind'a funky," Soda said, frowning as he chewed on the candy. I looked down at the half-eaten candy bar and decided I didn't want it anymore. When no one was looking I jammed it between the seat cushions.

**xx**

Ponyboy is usually the first one to get home after school, but today I was first because my class got let out early. I pushed through the front door and flung my shoes off and dropped my books on the coffee table.

The house was quiet. I thought it was empty until I looked into the kitchen and saw Darry sitting at the table, which is strange because he isn't supposed to be done work until five.

He had his elbows propped up and his head in his hands. Beneath his fingers I could see his eyes were screwed shut and his face was tight. That's how he looks when he's really worried about something.

The table was covered in letters and white envelopes. I knew what they were right away. Bills. Second notices. Third notices. Then I understood why Darry looked so worried. We had been low on money ever since _that_ day, and even though Darry thinks I'm too young to understand, I do. I understand more than he thinks.

I walked into the kitchen. Darry glanced over and when he saw it was me he raised his head and tried hide his nervous look. But I could see it in his blue eyes. He was worried about paying the bills, more worried than he'd ever looked before.

"Hey. How was school?" Darry asked me, pushing away some of the envelopes like they were nothing. But I knew they weren't nothing, and I'd known for a long time.

"Okay," I said, getting a cup out of the cupboard and taking the apple juice carton out of the fridge. I looked over at the table out of the corner of my eye and saw red letters on a few of the envelopes. I knew that wasn't good. "I have to write a book report on _Basil of Baker Street_."

Darry mumbled, "Good," but I could see he wasn't really listening to me. He was still looking at the bills.

**xx**

Sometimes I like to draw when I'm upset. I don't draw things like flowers or hearts, though. I draw people and faces and emotions, like Dallas when he's angry or Johnny when he smiles. It's called portraiture.

That's one thing Pony and I share in common; he also likes to draw faces, but his are better than mine. His pictures look more realistic. Soda says mine look like caricatures. Pony also likes to draw sunsets. He's the only person I know who does.

After dinner, I grabbed a few sheets of clean paper and dug my crayons out from under my bed. Then I walked around the house looking for something to draw. Sodapop had gone out with Steve and Darry was washing the dishes.

I went into the living room and saw Ponyboy sitting on the couch with his feet on the coffee table and his composition notebook in his lap. He was tapping his pencil against his nose, which is what he does when he's really thinking about something.

I wasn't supposed to disturb Ponyboy when he's doing his homework, especially when he's writing, so I crept over real quiet and set my stuff up on the other end of the coffee table.

I studied Pony's face, which is what I always do before I draw so I can get it right. Pony's brow was creased and his lips were set in a straight line, and his green eyes were narrowed, like he was angry. It was his contemplating face. I picked up a black crayon and started to sketch.

After I finished the outline of Pony's head and face, I colored in his brown hair and green eyes and added in the touch of grey that stained the green of his irises. I held the picture up and looked at it closely.

It didn't look like Pony's portraitures. It looked like a funny Looney Tune version of Pony. I crumbled it up and picked up my crayons, returning them to my room and shoving the picture in a drawer. I didn't want anyone to see it.

I went back into the living room and sat on the recliner, looking around for something else to do. I heard the kitchen tap shut off and Darry walked into the room, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He looked at Ponyboy and frowned.

"Ponyboy, haven't you got that essay written up yet?" And when Pony shook his head, he sighed. "It's due tomorrow, Pony. Don't you go failing your English course too. I want you to get through high-school so you can go to college, y'hear?"

"Yeah, I hear," Pony mumbled without looking up. He waited until Darry left the room before flinging his composition book across the room and leaning back onto the couch. His face was red and tight, like Darry when he tries to understand something but can't.

I wanted to make him feel better. I walked over to the bookshelf and looked over the dusty paperbacks before pulling out an old green book. I wiped the dusty cover on my shirttail and opened it up, shuffling through the pages until I found the chapter I was looking for.

I walked over to the couch quietly, holding the book against my shirt. When I got close enough I tapped on Pony's greasy head and bit down on my lip when he looked up at me. His eyes looked more gray than green.

"Pony, will you read Anne to me?" I asked, holding the book out to him. "Please? We never got to finish it…" I remember when Pony first started reading Anne of Green Gables to me; last summer. We got to the scene where Anne went to the Ball in her puffed-sleeve dress. Three days later, mum and dad died. Pony hasn't opened the book since.

Ponyboy looked thoughtful for a moment, and then grimaced, like he remembered the last time he read it to me. I thought he was going to refuse, but then he took the book from my hands and moved over so I could sit next to him.

I clambered up onto the couch and sat down, wrapping my arms around my bent knees. I leaned on Pony's shoulder, watching as he flicked through the pages with his long fingers. I used to sit on his lap when we read, and run my fingers over the pages and touch the words as he read them, like I was feeling Anne's puffy dress for myself.

But it's different now. I'm too old to sit on Pony's lap. Maybe I'm too old to even be read to.

Pony began to read. His voice was quiet and hard and when he looked at the book, it was like he was seeing just words and no story. When he used to read his voice would be loud and full of emotion. Now he just sounded bored.

I looked at the book, which had once seemed so real, and all I saw was words.

**xx**

**Chapter two.. any thoughts? (:  
**


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